


Singing through a Hurricane

by xel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, F/F, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 20:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xel/pseuds/xel
Summary: Angela becomes aware of Fareeha when she catches her lip-syncing, half-naked, in an apartment across the street.Angela meets Fareeha when she rolls, half-dead, into her operating room.





	Singing through a Hurricane

Angela makes a cup of tea; water in the kettle, kettle on the stove. She tends to half-dead plants, spindled vines draped, near-petrified, over their planters in her living room, as she waits for the whistle. The TV, set to low, rotates through the day’s top news stories; its function is less informative and more camaraderie. Scandal, political unrest, social justice, protests, and goodness - minor but significant - echo within the walls of her small quarters and offer comfort in the tight spaces between her cells. 

It is nearing daybreak outside but she has only just returned home. The walk to her apartment had been quiet and desolate, the wet sidewalk reflecting fractals of light from the streetlamps overhead. It had rained all day, and the sky is overcast, assuring that it will rain again very soon.  Rotations at the hospital have been hell for months, and are getting worse all of the time. This is a product of the war, and what war offers: injuries and injustice, more patients, less funding. Angela is determined and good at her job and very, very bright - a prodigy in her field - but the days drag and drag her down, still.

The kettle whistles.

“ _Meow_ ,” her cat protests, from where he is curled up on top of her couch and unhappy with the loud disturbance. Angela smiles at him.

She sets down her watering pale and shakes her head softly. In the kitchen, she grabs a mug from the cabinet, moves the kettle off the stove, places a tea bag in her cup, and pours the water over it. It steeps for a few minutes and when it is done, she throws the bag away.

Across the street, in a building containing mostly empty floors (occupied predominantly by paint rollers and ladders), a bakery inexplicably located on the first floor - street level, and a handful of cheap apartments, something very interesting is happening.

A woman, no older than Angela, rocks out into the handle of a broom across her hardwood. Her well-lit apartment is illuminated in the darkness. Of all the apartments and vacant spaces around her, hers is the only one in which the lights are on and the blinds are open.

It’s a small studio apartment; there is a bed in the middle of the room, a small island to the left side which separates the living area from the cooking area, and kitchen utilities just past it. There’s some furniture, too: a set of dresser drawers, a TV stand and TV, two bookshelf, but it’s comparatively minimalist, even to Angela's own.

The woman brings the broom stick flush against her lips, her eyes shut tight as she lifts an arm above her head and points skyward, singing the lyrics to some unheard song. Her shirt is tattered, black, names some band, and rests at her upper thighs. Angela doesn't mean to, but does take stock of what's below: her underwear is black and is visible, along with the peak of a tan and very toned abdomen, as she points. At the end of her solo, the woman grins winningly. It is at that moment that Angela meets her eyes. Or she meets Angela's? Their eyes meet.

Angela blinks, the mug warm between her hands, amused.

The woman points to her and mouths more lyrics, a grin still tugging at her lips.

Despite herself, Angela laughs. She brings a hand to cover it. She offers a small wave.

It must dawn on the woman then, what has happened, because she halts for a moment, looking very embarrassed. Eventually, she waves back, her lips make the motion of what Angela assumes is "sorry", and then she points to her right and exits stage that-way.

Angela shakes her head and closes her blinds, in a much better mood than she had been ten minutes before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy three-chapter story!


End file.
